


Sleep Like The Dead

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hot Chocolate, Huddling For Warmth, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Friendship, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14023371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: Oswald returns to Ed's apartment after 'dealing' with Galavan but instead of exhilaration and triumph feels only a hollow emptiness. Ed decides filling it with hot cocoa is a good place to start.Second prompt for Nygmobblepot Week March 2018: ‘Sharing a Bed’





	Sleep Like The Dead

‘Can I stay here tonight?’ Oswald asked abruptly.

‘Of course you can’, Ed said automatically, surprised Oswald even felt the need to ask.

Then again, now that he had settled his business with Galavan, perhaps Ed shouldn’t have expected Oswald to return. The more he thought about it, the odder it was. It wasn’t as if Oswald had to hide anymore now that his enemy had been vanquished. He must have a dozen places to go. So, why was he back here at Ed’s apartment? Before Ed could consider the conundrum further, he was distracted by a barely audible question from Oswald.

‘Could you…maybe…?’

Ed lowered the towel he had been running under the tap and turned from the sink to hear Oswald better. Only to see him shake his head, his shotgun still resting idly in his lap. As Ed neared the couch, he could smell the traces of gun discharge clinging to Oswald's coat.

‘No’, Oswald said, ‘Forget it’.

‘What is it?’ 

‘It’s not right for you to sleep on the couch’, Oswald said, patting the couch he was sitting on.

‘Do you want me to leave and sleep somewhere else?’ Ed asked, confused.

‘No! I want you to stay!’ Oswald grimaced, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he wondered how a person with glasses that thick could miss the point so much.

‘But, there’s only the couch and the bed and…’ 

Ed’s eyes widened as understanding dawned.

‘Oh’, he concluded.

‘Like I said’, Oswald said, cheeks burning, ‘Forget it. I’ll go in a minute’.

Oswald turned away but froze as he felt Ed’s hand on his shoulder. Ed, feeling Oswald go rigid beneath his hand, removed it instantly, believing he had once again overstepped the mark for acceptable male physical contact. Unfortunately, there was no way Ed could have been known of the keen stab of regret Oswald felt at his hand’s sudden absence. 

‘Listen, the heating’s on the fritz anyway’, Ed offered, ‘If you shared the bed with me, you’d be doing me a favour’.

‘You’re sure?’ Oswald asked seriously, unable to hide the hope in his eyes.

You might wanna clean up first though’, Ed said, offering Oswald the damp towel, ‘You got some blood on your face’.

 

**

 

‘It’s all over then?’ Ed asked.

Oswald nodded, staring into the depths of the cocoa Ed had made him.  
They were in Ed’s bed, Oswald (now cleansed of blood) dressed in the same pyjamas that he had borrowed during his previous sojourn and Ed in a t-shirt and bottoms. When Ed had climbed in beside Oswald he had deliberately left a gap between them out of respect for Oswald’s boundaries.  
Oswald had been quiet but not silent: Ed could sense the unspoken words weighing him down and, now they were comfortable, Ed was keen to help extract them.

‘How did it feel?’ he asked delicately, ‘Taking your revenge?’

‘Not how I expected’.

‘You seem underwhelmed’, Ed commented, taking a sip of his own hot chocolate, 'Honestly, I thought you would be celebrating with your men'.

‘Honestly, I don’t know how I feel’, Oswald said contemplatively, ‘I just didn’t want to be alone but I also didn't want to be around them'.

He took a long gulp of cocoa and savoured the way it burnt his throat.

'Whooping and cheering like moronic apes', he grumbled, 'Acting like what we did mattered to them at all’.

Ed took a sip of his own cocoa and diplomatically responded with a scientific analysis, unsure how to respond to the venom in Oswald's voice.

‘A desire for comfort or reassurance is natural after a traumatic experience. Especially from a friend’.

‘Yes, well, male friends don’t usually do things like this’, Oswald said, ‘And murderers don’t usually have sleepovers’.

‘Maybe they should’, Ed shrugged, ‘Might do them some good’.

Oswald shifted his shoulders in a half hearted shrug and sipped his cocoa. A more measured swallow this time.  
Seeing Oswald so deflated, Ed rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. He expected Oswald to shrug it off but curiously, this time, he seemed to almost lean into it. Good. Ed must be doing something right.

‘Don’t worry’, Ed said comfortingly, ‘I won’t tell anyone. Scout’s honour’.

Oswald’s shoulders abruptly shook and Oswald made an odd choking noise. Ed patted his friend’s back instinctively. After a few seconds, the fit seemed to pass and Oswald took deep breaths.

‘Marshmallow went down the wrong way?’ Ed asked, offering a convenient explanation for Oswald to use.

‘I don’t know how to thank you’, Oswald replied hoarsely, face averted, ‘You helped me even though I…just, thank you for being my friend’.

‘I’ve never had a real friend before’, Ed said, smiling at the warm feeling the word caused to suffuse through his body.

‘Me neither’.

‘What is it?’ Ed asked, picking up on the subtle hesitation in Oswald’s voice.

‘We can’t keep being friends’, Oswald said, fingers tightening around his cup.

‘Why not?’

‘What do you think’s going to happen when Gordon tells the GCPD how you helped me?’ Oswald asked, finally looking at Ed.

He tried to ignore the hurt in Ed’s face. Those big brown eyes made Oswald feel like he was kicking a helpless puppy.

‘Gordon talks to you all the time’, Ed countered, the merest undercurrent of resentment in his voice.

‘After tonight Jim Gordon won’t want anything to do with me’, Oswald said shrugging, ‘If he’s got any sense he’ll be chasing after his lady love by now’.

‘Why’s that?’

Oswald chuckled darkly as he put his cocoa mug on the nightstand.

‘Because he’s the one who killed Galavan’, Oswald smiled cynically, ‘After I tenderised him for him of course’.

Oswald watched Ed’s expression change into obvious surprise with fascination. For someone who had taken to murder like a duck to water, Ed still retained an innocence that Oswald found oddly endearing. 

‘You think Gordon will make you the scapegoat?’ Ed asked, once he had processed the revelation. 

‘I know he will but I’m ready for it’, Oswald said resignedly, ‘I just want someone to know the truth when that day comes’. 

Ed, despite his concern for Oswald's plight, couldn't help but feel flattered that Oswald had entrusted him with such a valuable secret. 

‘Gordon killed Galavan not you’, Ed said in a tone akin to a teacher quoting an irrefutable law of nature, ‘He’s the murderer here’.

‘This is Gotham’, Oswald countered, ‘People rarely get what they deserve’.

He gave a bitter laugh and added: ‘Besides it’d be just my luck that they would arrest me for something I didn’t do instead of all the things I have done’.

‘Why don’t you run?’

‘Never been very good at running’, Oswald said, shaking his head, hand straying subconsciously to his damaged knee, ‘Don’t worry about me. I can handle it’.

‘You shouldn’t have to handle it alone’, Ed insisted, ‘If Gordon comes after you, he’ll have to go through me first’.

Oswald shuddered as Ed suddenly laid his hand over his reassuringly. It was warm and encompassed his fully, Ed’s long fingers naturally entwining with his own. Oswald withdrew his hand with great effort, feeling the same ache as earlier when Ed had removed his hand from his shoulder. It was a weak point he could not afford. Not now. 

‘Don’t get sentimental Ed’, he said, swallowing hard, ‘It-it gets people killed’.

Oswald gave another compulsive heaving motion as his breath caught in his throat. It felt like there was a large stone stuck in his craw and he felt his eyes begin to water even as he clenched his jaw in a vain attempt to stop them.

‘Are you alright?’ Ed asked gently even though he already knew the answer.

Ed had expected this kind of reaction sooner: when adrenaline and anger was spent, a comedown was inevitable. It was one of the reasons he had made cocoa: a hot drink was proven to calm and fortify people after a traumatic event. It had been designed to give Penguin subconscious reassurance for when he took this emotional reaction.

‘She’s still gone isn’t she?’ Oswald said, sniffling despite his frustration with himself, ‘Galavan’s dead, she’s dead and I’m still here’.

‘So am I’, Ed said soothingly, putting his cup on the nightstand, ‘Now, just let it out. You’ll feel better afterwards’.

Oswald shook his head defiantly even as his red rimmed eyes glistened in the light.

‘I don’t deserve y- ‘ Oswald gave a shaky exhalation, ‘A friend like you’.

‘People rarely get what they deserve in Gotham’, Ed smiled, repeating Oswald’s own words back at him, ‘So, shouldn’t you be happy when you do?’

Oswald gave a watery smile and accepted the handkerchief Ed offered him. He blew his nose loudly and lay down on his side, facing away from Ed. Recognising that Oswald would never expose his grief so openly, Ed pulled the blanket over them both and turned off the light bathing the room in a comforting darkness. 

As Ed began to lie down, he decided to try something drastic. He just couldn’t ignore the soft sniffles and sighs that seemed louder in the darkness as Oswald finally began to release some of his sorrow and, despite priding himself on his logical brain and emotional detachment, Ed could feel a very real ache building behind his ribs. He hadn't felt something this strong since Kristen had...passed away. Ed realised he would miss Oswald's friendship terribly. Their chess games, singing and playing the piano together, just having someone there at the end of a long day at work...Ed had gotten used to not being alone. The novelty had swiftly developed into a craving over the last few weeks and the thought of losing something that so many others took for granted bothered Ed immensely. Lying behind Oswald, Ed placed an arm around him, pulling him flush to his own body. He sighed gratefully when Oswald offered no resistance. Probably too exhausted to fight the instinctive need for warmth. Ed knew what it truly was though. A way for him to say 'thank you' to Oswald. A farewell hug. 

‘Will you sing for me please?’ Oswald asked in a small, hesitant voice, ‘Might not get another chance to ask you’.

Ed complied and politely ignored the sound of Oswald weeping as he sang ‘My Mother Looks Over Me’. As he finished the last lingering note, he noticed the crying had quieted and Oswald’s body was rising and falling in a smooth rhythm as he breathed. 

‘Mr Penguin?’ Ed whispered.

‘Please Ed, call me Oswald’, came the muffled reply.

‘Goodnight…Oswald’, Ed said, the word somehow sounding strangely intimate between his lips even though in his mind 'Penguin' had been 'Oswald' for weeks now.

‘Goodnight Ed’, Oswald replied.


End file.
